


Summer Lights II

by juliana_hamilton



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliana_hamilton/pseuds/juliana_hamilton
Summary: An extended epilogue to "Summer Lights".
Relationships: Benedict Cumberbatch/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of pure fiction. I do not know any of the characters or people in any way. I would also like to state that I am not a 'skeptic', I simply used some fan theories read on Tumblr to make my story fit. There is never any disrespect intended to anyone involved, if anything I just want the most amazing human on the planet to be blissfully happy, always!

London, 2019

I.  
Pushing open the door of his ‘new’ flat, Benedict drops his keys on the counter with a loud clank and throws his jacket and briefcase onto a nearby chair. Weaving through unpacked boxes and crates, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of scotch and the last clean glass from the cupboard. Pouring the shot, he swallows half of it down before refilling it again and making his way to the lounge, he leans against the floor-to-ceiling windows with one hand. The lights of London spread out before him, once he might have reveled in its beauty. 

Taking a look around, he can hardly believe this is now home. All his comfortable things, furniture, books, mementos...now smashed into boxes or left behind in Hampstead. Today was the last straw. Flopping his long body into the single chair, he throws back the rest of the scotch and lays his head back, closing his eyes and breathing hard through his nose. 

Not his. Not fucking his. None of it, this life. He went to sign the divorce papers today, some posh lawyer’s office, it was going to be bad enough...then the documentation. He had thought there would be some kind of parenting agreement, how does he do this? All he ever wanted was a family, a good woman to love, a home and children...and now proof that the boys weren’t even his. He fights the tears, goddammit, how could she do this? Gave her everything, tried so hard to be the man she wanted…

Anger and fury rise within him, he has the strongest urge to heave the heavy crystal glass into the windows in front of him. Watch glass shatter and scream into the void. Bleed a little. Or a lot. Placing the glass carefully down on the floor, he drops his head into his hands, breathing hard and making every attempt to control himself. Shower. Then another drink. Check his email, watch some porn. Anything to take his mind elsewhere.

As the hot water, too hot, runs over his skin, making his body pink and the air steamy, he lets the tears run. He loved her, loves her...how could she? She was always hard to love, cold and distant. But he thought he’d done his part. Anything she wanted. And now, after clearing his schedule for the next six months, thinking they were going to have time as a family...this. He won’t even have work to distract him now. 

Turning off the taps, he stands there, alone. Water dripping, tears flowing, body wracked with sobs. Not how it was supposed to be, not at all.

Some time later he is back in the chair, another glass full and dangling from his left hand. The soft buzz of good scotch is creeping around his brain, settling him a bit. He gets his laptop from his bag and pulls over a box to prop his feet. Check his emails, maybe see what they can get him last minute. A few days or a week, he might be able to handle, but six months without work? He’ll go insane. Maybe he should book a holiday...go somewhere exotic and foreign, where no one knows him and he can drink himself into oblivion. 

When the machine boots up and he opens his inbox, he is surprised it is so empty...well, everyone knows he was planning a ‘hiatus’ to be with his family...it feels strange, though. There is one interesting notification. 

to:btcc719@gmail.com  
from:@co.uk

Subject:inactive account final notice

This is your final notice that the account address bennyc@co.uk will be deleted permanently as of March 1, 2019 due to lack of activity. We apologize for any inconvenience, regularly scheduled maintenance of the servers requires elimination of inactive accounts. Please be sure to transfer any important documents or save copies of materials and communications you wish to preserve before the March 1, 2019 deadline. 

Blah, blah, blah...old account, obviously he hasn’t needed it in years, but just out of curiosity, he clicks through, see if there was anything interesting he missed. Thousands of spam messages, he uses the filters to sort through. Old messages from friends who transferred over to his new accounts, nothing to keep there…

And then he sees it. 

Fuck.

He checks the date. Nine years ago, just after Sherlock exploded and his life changed forever. And he never saw it. 

Setting the laptop down before he drops it, he reaches for his glass again. Lifting it to his lips, his mind is filled with images of that summer. And Jenna.

Endless summer days spent romping and adventuring with kids in the US, of all places. Two and a half months of absolute bliss in the arms of an older woman; a perfect, natural, capable woman. He remembers how he loved her, how naive and hopeful he had been. He opens her message.

“My dearest Benny, your Sherlock is a work of art, as you have always been. I can’t tell you how brilliant you are, but know that little part of my heart swells with pride and love for you as if seventeen years haven’t passed us by. Keep shining, my love. Your Jenna.”

Oh my God. Fucking bloody hell. Her words slay him, sitting alone in this cold, sterile flat that isn’t home. 

Nine years ago she reached out, and nine years passed without a response from him. As the sky outside his window lightens with the coming dawn, he drinks. Remembers. Cries for all that he has lost. Smiles through his tears at memories long forgotten. 

He sprawls fully dressed across an unmade bed and passes out, his last thought of Jenna Harris, light eyes, shiny hair, smooth skin and a smile that lit up his world.


	2. Chapter 2

II.  
Waking up with bleary eyes and a raging headache, he is shocked to see the time. Four in the afternoon. No calls, no alarms, no visitors, nothing. Stumbling to the loo for a piss, he remembers the dream. Jenna in his arms by the lake. A dream? Or a memory. Not sure. 

Ben’s still not quite awake as he strips down and steps into the shower. He hasn’t thought of her in years. His heart aches that he allowed himself to forget. Thinking back on that summer, then a year in Tibet, home to London, years of Uni, Olivia. 

He knows he hasn’t had a bad life, in fact, most people would agree he’s been more fortunate than most. He has always been grateful for his professional success, but a bit whingy about his personal life. Always wanting what he didn’t have. Maybe he was too blind to see…

Settling the kettle on the range, he stands in the middle of the lounge and looks at the boxes. Maybe he needed to settle in here, spend some time thinking about what the last 25 years has been for him. Swallowing a couple paracetamol with his too-hot tea, his eyes fall on his laptop. Fuck. He wants so badly to reach out to her. 

But how is that fair? Nine years since her email, 26 years since they said goodbye in that Northern Kentucky airport. She would be...he calculates, 49? Probably married, kids, maybe even grandkids at this point. No. He has no right, especially as he is a fucking mess right now. Can’t expect her to deal with that. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon and evening unpacking boxes and makes a short trip to the corner Tesco. He’s recognized, signs and smiles and poses for a few pics, grabs some info on home grocery delivery. Back at the flat, he makes himself some food and settles into his chair, still facing the windows to watch the day fade over London. 

It suddenly occurs to him how isolated he is. Mum passed three years ago. Dad is in a home near Sussex and close to his sister. His friends don’t call anymore, unless it is company business. Heading into his kitchen he pours a glass of wine and thinks about her, his wife. 

Someone tried to tell him once that narcissists use your emotions against you, make you question your own reality. Fuck if he wasn’t questioning his now. He doesn’t even have anyone to call...his public persona appears to be surrounded with friends and loved ones, but he feels so alone. 

Part of him wants to call and talk to the boys, he doesn’t know what to do with that. Can he sue for custody? Does he have any rights at all? He needs his own solicitor to look at this, but he realizes as the light fades and darkness falls in the apartment that she probably planned it this way. She’ll use contact with the children to pull more money from him. She never really wanted to work, just whatever little projects she found ‘interesting’. God, his head is swimming, heart rate elevated, nervous thoughts pinging around his brain. 

When he closes his eyes and lays his head back, his mind fills with images of Jenna. He lets them, and feels his heart rate settle, his head calms, his fingers stop nervously tapping. He sees her clearly, remembers little moments together, held by the golden wispy strands of memory. He feels his cock twitch, it surprises him, actually. 

He’s been in so much pain, burying his personal needs in work and trying to fix his marriage. Desperately holding on to the children. His world has crashed down around him, yet he laughs harshly at the idea that a summer fling a quarter century ago still gets him hot. Damn she was hot. Not like ‘Hollywood Starlet’ hot, but real and sexy and hot for him. Her confidence and sexual freedom kept him in a state of endless arousal all summer. 

His first few months in Tibet, he had himself convinced he would return to Ohio, sweep in and take her away with him. By the time his year away was finished, he had grown up a little. Developed some awareness, what a crime it would have been to take her away from Zephyr. She wouldn’t have gone, they would have fought. He decided to go back to England and start his degree. 

When he started dating Olivia, he sealed Jenna and their summer together tightly away in a corner of his soul, and as the years went by he thought of her less and less. Things were good with Liv, life was good, he was getting work, his parents were proud of him. Then there was Sherlock, he and Olivia split, but he didn’t have much time to grieve as his career exploded. 

He knew, he admits it to himself now, his marriage was orchestrated by others, power players pulling strings. A match made in Hollywood back rooms and played out in British society. Ben feels that anxiety rising again as he admits how naive and malleable he was. Everyone knew what he wanted, he allowed himself to be manipulated because he thought he was getting his dream. 

Martin was the only one brave enough to say it to his face, that fucker. “Benedict, don’t be an idiot. She’s using you, they’re all using you. Man up, Buttercup.” But he didn’t ‘man up’, instead he pushed him away, cut him off, pretended that Martin was the one who fucked up. God, he said horrible things. 

He picks up his phone, fiddles around in the contacts until Martin’s name comes up. Wonders what would happen if he actually called. Probably hang right up on him, the tit. And Ben knew he deserved it. Tossing his phone aside, he gets up to fill his glass, grabs the cigarettes he picked up at the store, and steps out onto the verandah. He hasn’t smoked in years. Thinks of who he used to be as he lights up, how the fuck did he end up vegan? He feels like he’s been walking around for years wrapped in a costume, no, a fucking invisibility cloak with a costume over it. The real Ben, Benny, Benedict buried far beneath what everyone else wanted from him. He laughs a little at how hard he protested whenever anyone called him ‘Benny’. Little did they know how sacred that name was for him. It was the only way he could honor them, their time. 

No one calls him that. Ever. He won’t let them.

Just her.

After opening the second bottle of wine, he gives in to temptation and opens his laptop. He starts with Google, her name yields several hits, mostly on the camp sites. She made a career out of running Zephyr, she’s still there, in fact, if only for a few more months. He reads of her awards and accolades in her industry. Not surprised at all, she was amazing at what she did.

According to the Camp Association website she is to be honored at Zephyr in May with a weekend’s worth of activities and ceremonies, and then she is retiring. There is a picture…

His heart stops. Goddammit, Jenna. Of course you would be the hottest looking nearly 50 year old he’s ever seen. Dressed in tight, faded jeans and a cropped leather jacket, her dark hair streaked with silver strands, eyes like quicksilver and lips full and red. Doesn’t look like a camp director, fuck, she looks like a rock star. But it is definitely her, there could be no mistake in that smirky smile or those deathly curves. Ben aches to see her again. 

He snaps the computer closed and jumps up to pace around the room. No. Fucking hell. She’s obviously moved on with her life and he has nothing to offer but apologies and his fucked up psyche. He steps out and smokes, drinks and smokes until the rainy London evening falls and he’s freezing his ass off. 

Lying in bed, he tosses and turns, trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally he gives up, shoves his hand down his boxers and closes his eyes. He lets the images come, they wash over him like a movie in his head.   
...the first night they met, in the dim kitchens at camp  
...how she watched him touch himself, making promises she kept, one by one  
...day after day, laughing and playing in the hot summer sun  
...his 18th birthday, their first time at the lake  
...her mouth, smiling, laughing, sucking him off, smoking  
...her eyes, knowing him, comforting him  
...her tears as she finally admitted she loved him too.

And then, the photo from the website, all grown up and slaying it. Owning every ounce of her existence. He remembers every time they fucked, made love, screwed each other’s brains out. His orgasm approaches as he pulls hard on his cock, imagining how it might be now.

Knowing it was perfect then, he comes over his fingers with a sob, knowing they might have had a lifetime of that perfection, had either of them had any sense at all. He’s too drunk, too sad and too pathetic to even bother cleaning himself up, just rolls over and jams his fucking weak ass crying face into a pillow and passes out.


	3. Chapter 3

III.  
He wakes up covered in his own dried cum, he smells like shit and his head is raging again. Three days now, and all he’s managed to do is wallow in his own self pity. Come on, Cumberbatch, enough with your little pity party. Time to do something. 

In the shower, he realizes that was her voice. Jenna. She would expect more. And if he can’t quite bring himself to contact her, at least the Jenna in his head can kick his arse and get him moving. He laughs to himself as the water pours down his chest and stomach. Washes away the grossness of his activities last night...and the smile sticks on his face. 

He can’t remember the last time he smiled. Except for with his boys, ‘his’ boys. They got his real smile. But no one else, not for a long time. Good thing about being such an acclaimed actor, most people couldn’t tell the difference. Mum knew, just before she died she begged him to fix it. “Do something, Ben, my love. Make a change, find your light again. Life’s just too damn short.” As he towels off and shaves a week’s worth of stubble off his face, he takes a good look in the mirror. 

Speaking out loud, to no one but himself. “Alright, Mum, Jenna...I can at least try.” He strips the bed and starts some laundry, fixes himself some breakfast and stares at his phone. Sets it aside and makes a list on a notepad. Things he needs to do, things he wants to do, things he cannot do but desperately wants to.

Need to do: he unpacks the last of the boxes and orders some living room furniture to be delivered. Feeling a little more settled as he places his favorite books on the shelf, he knows he is putting off the next thing on his list. 

Want to do: Ben sits at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee, and stares at his phone. Texting is the coward’s way out but that’s what he’s going to do. 

“Martin, I know we haven’t talked in too long, hope this is still your number. I just, fuck, I want to apologize, I was a right prat. I would appreciate an opportunity to say it in person. You know where to get me. Ben”

Cannot do: He drafts an email to Jenna, doesn’t send it, but keeps a copy.   
My dearest Jenna, so much time has passed...part of me doesn’t know what to say, except the thought of you has saved me. I won’t go into the details, but I need you to know how long-lasting your impact has been. I didn’t get your email until two days ago. I know, ridiculous, right? Suffice to say, my life got quite crazy after Sherlock and that account sat unmonitored for almost 10 years. I can’t tell you how much I wish I had seen it then, when you sent it. Your words, as always, were exactly what I needed, then and now. Thank you. Your Benny

He went down to the gym in the basement of the building, worked out for an hour then showered again and ran out for cigarettes and alcohol. A hat and a change in posture avoided the recognition he dreaded at the moment. Back in his flat he takes a moment to survey his day, feeling like maybe it was a step in the right direction. 

Tonight’s poison was a 12 pack of beer, and he settles into his chair, still facing the wall of windows. The flat is quiet as the sun sets and the city lights come on. He takes a deep breath and realizes he doesn’t feel quite as panicked as the last few nights, that a few beers and a good night’s sleep will be enough. He enjoys the quiet though, and as he gets up to step out for a smoke, his phone rings. For the first time in three days, someone is calling him. 

Lighting up he sees it’s Martin. Shit. Didn’t expect him to call. Oh well, here goes nothing…

“Hello...Martin?”

“Righto, you rat bastard, how the fuck are you?”

Ben takes a deep breath, hesitates, then laughs. “Shit, Martin...thanks for calling back.” 

“Ben...you alright? I heard some things…”

“Umm, yeah, I guess, working on it. Look, mate, I just texted because I got to thinking…”

“Ben, where are you at? Are you busy?” Ben takes a deep pull off his cigarette, hesitates. Martin continues, “Are you fucking smoking again, Benedict? Where the fuck are you?”

Benedict smiles at his familiar and endearing profanity. “I have a new flat in Wellington Court...know where that’s at?” 

Martin snorts, “Always the posh boy. What are you drinking? I can be there in 20 minutes.”

“Beer tonight, Martin, been a rough couple of days.”

“Text me the address, see you in a bit, you twat.” 

As Ben hangs up, he realizes he is smiling again. He smokes and thinks, then rushes back in to prepare some nibblies and straightens up a bit. He feels a bit nervous, they have been estranged for a couple of years, and soon they will talk, and reconnect, and Ben is ecstatic about it. He can’t believe how good it feels to know this friendship is rekindled.

When the buzzer signals his friend’s arrival, Benedict has to wipe his sweaty hands before opening the door. He is nervous, tells himself Martin wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t already forgiven him..

Standing in the doorway, Martin Freeman smiles and gestures with his hands full of beer and pizza. “Hey, fucker. Let me in? Shit’s heavy.” Ben lets out the breath he’s been holding, and steps back, taking the pizza box from the smaller man’s hands. “You look like death, man.” Ben smiles, he never did understand how Martin could say the rudest things, and it would sound endearing.

“Well, thanks for that. C’mon…” and as Martin steps into the flat and looks around he lets out a whistle. 

“Nice place, Ben. Could use with some fucking wall treatment…” They deposit the food and drinks in the kitchen. “Bottle opener?” Martin holds up his Newcastle Ale and waggles it about, laughing as Ben searches his kitchen. “Haven’t been here long have you?” 

Ben pauses, his back to Martin. That arse always could see things as they were, he was actually more like the real Sherlock Holmes than Benedict was. “Three days, actually. Still settling in.” He turns and tosses the bottle opener, which Martin grabs out of the air effortlessly. They both smile, whatever else may have happened, they always did work well together. “It’s really good to see you. Lounge?”

As they settle in front of the windows, Ben takes a deep breath, and a long pull on his bottle. When he looks up he sees Martin staring at him, fearless, just like always. Doesn’t know how he does that. “Look, thanks for coming. It’s been a long time…”

Martin smirks, takes a drink. “Couple of years, yeah. ‘Lot’s changed...weird how we know, but haven’t talked. Word is you’re getting a divorce?” Leave it to Martin to just lay it out like that.

“Yeah, it’s all fucked up. But that’s not why I texted.” Ben gets up to avoid Martin’s eyes, looks out the window.

“Alright, you pansy. Then why did you?” Again with the smirk. 

Ben laughs, it sounds a bit harsh, and he knows Martin sees through it. He turns to lean back against the glass, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m all fucked up.”

Martin snorts, “Well that’s nothing new, pretty boy.” 

“Shut up, fucker, let me do this, alright?” Martin smiles into his beer. Somehow, his sass makes it easier. “I don’t want to get all mushy and shit, but I wanted to try and apologize. You tried to help me, always did in your own way, and I treated you like crap. You didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry. I’ve missed our friendship.”

Martin gets up and walks over to the window, looking out at the view. “Alright, should we kiss and make up now?” Ben spits out his drink, choking on his laughter. Martin nods and lifts his bottle to his lips. “I’m sure the fandom would explode…” They stand there quietly for a few moments before Martin speaks again. His voice lower, quieter. “Isn’t it fucked up how we can’t see things clearly until everything falls apart?”

Ben lowers his head, tries to put down the emotions that are welling up. Gives up and turns to bang his head on the glass. He can’t look at Martin while he says it. But he’s going to say it, and if Martin gives him shit for being emotional...well, it wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I didn’t listen to anyone. Thought I was so smart, getting everything I wanted. And now it’s over...she’s...everything you all were trying to tell me, and worse. God, how does anyone even put up with me?”

He is startled by a light punch to his upper arm, “Only because you’re so fuckin’ pretty, Benny.” Ben gives him the standard look whenever anyone calls him that...Martin gives him the finger. Martin Freeman does what he wants, and fuck everyone else. Ben laughs, little and strained though it is, and leans back against the glass. 

“They’re not mine, Martin. The kids...I love them more than anything...but she’s going to use that against me.” 

“What the fuck, Ben? Not yours? I mean there were rumours….are you saying…”

“Apparently, me being gone so much allowed her time to arrange for in vitro, with my money of course, a couple of hundred thousand dollars. All those people who suspected something was up….unbelievable. I never really questioned the timing, and convinced myself I was happily married...I guess if we were actually in love I would have known something was off.” He takes a deep breath. “Why am I so fucking good at lying to myself?” his voice breaks, he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Gonna step out for a smoke, give me a minute?” He turns away without making eye contact.

Martin smacks him upside the head, “Nope. I’ll go with you.”

Stepping outside, the cold and wet of late winter in London hits them both in the face. Lighting up, Ben steps to the railing and looks out over the city. “Part of me doesn’t want to settle in here too much, yeah? Like maybe it’s time to go somewhere else. Anywhere.” He takes a drag and flicks the ash into the wind. 

“Never pegged you for a runaway, Cumberbatch. Besides, life fucking sucks sometimes. But it gets better. Eventually.” Martin hugs himself with a shiver. “Shite, it’s cold out here.”

Ben sends him a smirk, “Could’ve stayed inside…” 

“What, and let you stand out here alone in your self-pity? Nope, I’ll freeze my arse off with you. Look, Ben. Divorce sucks, no way around that. It’s like starting all over. Remember how shitty it was, filming ‘four’? Amanda and I could barely be in the same room. Course you remember, I took most of my shitty attitude out on you.” 

Ben nods, remembering how tense and uncomfortable that time was. Martin continues. “I wish there was a way for you to stop being everyone’s fucking emotional tampon, man. You’re like a sponge for everyone’s abuse. Time to knock it off.” He shivers again. “Going inside, freeze your bollocks off if you want.”

As the door clicks behind him, Ben thinks about what he said. Never really saw it that way, thought he was being kind and compassionate when others were hurting. Martin rarely fabricated shit, one of the great things about him is his absolute candor and lack of bullshit. Something to think about…

Back inside, he finds Martin in the kitchen. He is heating up the pizza and munching on the cheese and crackers Ben prepared earlier. Tossing his bottle in the trash, he gets another for him and one for Martin from the fridge. 

“Ta, opener?” They toss and catch again, one of their favorite games. Leaning back against the counter, Martin looks at him, lips pressed together tight. “Do you have a good solicitor? You might be able to get some kind of visitation…”

Ben shrugs, takes a drink. “I’m going to make some calls tomorrow, but my gut says she’s already got this wrapped up. They’re so young, Martin, if this gets tied up in court they won’t even remember me…” Emotion surges again, he sniffs hard and looks up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Ben. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do, but I will send you the number for my guy. Our situation was a little different…” Ben knew Martin and Amanda never formally got married, but they had property and two children together. “It’s okay now, mostly. She’s still a little bitter, but we’ve both moved on, and we manage to do right by the kids. Not sure if...sounds like she’s got you by the balls, man.”

The timer on the oven buzzes and they busy themselves with plates and napkins and take the food into the lounge. Over dinner they talk of work, mutual friends and upcoming projects. Martin gushes about his co-stars in the play he just finished and some filming coming up for the MCU. They discover they will both be in LA for the Endgame premiere in April. Ben smiles, “How about that then? We hang out together and the tongues start wagging. Maybe we should call Mark and Steven, give them a heads up.” Their eyes meet, Martin raises his eyebrows. Ben plunges ahead. “Ever given any thought to doing a fifth?” 

“Fuck that, Ben. I mean yeah, ‘course I have. Just, so much, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I would absolutely love to work with you again, the whole crew. Talked to Lou lately?” Their conversation spins out around their Sherlock co-stars and potential reunions. 

Ben sips his beer and plays with his napkin. “I know it’s crazy, and I very much enjoy doing other things, but something about Sherlock was…” he trails off.

Martin nods, “Yeah, I could do without the crazy fan theories and attention. But I loved playing John, even with that odd last season, he’s a great character, one of my favorites.”

Ben smiles softly, nodding in agreement. “I am so proud of what we did there. Wouldn’t have been the same without you...or any of them.” He feels his eyes sting a little, at this point he just doesn’t care if Martin makes fun of him. “Thanks for coming over, it’s...this is good.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, then Martin gets up to get them each another beer. When he sits down, he says quietly, “So what’s your plan now? Anything lined up?”

Ben tells him about the planned break, admits he’s feeling a bit lost. Still deliberating over finding work to keep him busy and just disappearing for a while. He hesitates, then says, “Fuck it. Might as well tell you. Someone from way back in my past has popped up in my life again, sort of...thinking about going to the States to - ”

Martin interrupts. “What? Some ole flame? Might do you good. Might be a disaster...never know. Probably a good idea to get out of London, though, clear your head. Gotta take care of the legal shit first though. Don’t go running off without getting your financials in order, or she’ll run through you like cheap Mexican food.” They both laugh. Martin gets serious again. “Look, Benedict, you’re not on for Strange 2 until what, September? Take some time, get your shit together. Things will work out, eventually, though maybe not the way you want...or expect. We’re too fucking old to not figure out what makes us happy. Cheers.”


	4. Chapter 4

IV.  
A few weeks go by, Benedict fills his time with phone calls and meetings with the solicitors, working out, meeting up with Martin and a few other old friends and reading. The agency had sent over several project propositions as well as scripts. He’s leaning towards doing some more theatre, something brand new, maybe. By the end of March he’s managed to lock down his financials, and started some forward motion on an adoption proposal. 

He still has bad days, she won’t let him talk to the boys and very rarely talks to him herself. He knows she’s got others doing her dirty work for her, he uses some of his free time to dig around into that. If he can prove she’s incompetent, he will have a better chance of getting the kids. 

He’s also added to his collection of unsent emails to Jenna. Ben doesn’t kid himself at this point, he will never send them, it’s more like therapy. But he does have an idea rolling about in his brain, something about heading to Ohio after the MCU promotions, maybe dropping in on her retirement celebrations. 

Running on the treadmill, he wipes the sweat from his face, tells himself he wouldn’t do that to her. Just show up out of the blue...what a shock. Besides, this event is the culmination of her career, he knows that even if he wanted to be casual and low-key, his fame wouldn’t let him. So the ideas just keep tossing around up there. 

Dearest Jenna, I wish to know you again. So many years have passed. I can only think you would have gotten better with age. I do hope you have found love and fulfilment in your life. I am trying very hard not to be a creepy stalker, but I am torn...wanting to know everything I can, and respecting your privacy. Just know, if I do reappear in your life, that I took a risk, pushed myself to be brave, and only ever with your best interests at heart. Your Benny

The first week of April is sunny and warm in London. Ben spends several hours a day in meetings with his defense team. The divorce decree will become final two days before he leaves for the States, and the custodial piece will be determined next fall. He makes the difficult decision to pull out from his production company, Adam is pissed, but Ben sees it now for what it is. She has been entirely too involved in that aspect of his life and he wants a complete separation. And he thinks the sun has set on his friendship with Adam, Ben can sense the anger is more about not having his name and clout attached to the company, rather than personal feelings of loyalty or history. 

Making his travel arrangements, he adds in some extra time in the States, leaves his departure open-ended. Martin will be staying nearby in LA, Ben knows he’s looking forward to spending some time there, along with Tom and little Tom. They always put the Brits up together, like they’re going to get homesick or something. 

One cool rainy evening a few days before his flight, Ben receives an email from the Dayton, Ohio organization that runs Zephyr. He still hasn’t decided what he’s going to do, but he did contact them to make a sizable donation in honor of Jenna’s work at camp. He was pleased that he was able to paint it as low-key charity work to his financial advisors, but that it would be a sustaining gift, providing scholarships for 100 children to attend camp each year in her name. The email confirms the details of the transaction, and invites him to attend the festivities surrounding her retirement. He has asked them to keep his name out of the paperwork, he still hasn’t made a decision about whether he should go or not. 

Benedict stands on the balcony and smokes, thinks about it. He knows he spends a good portion of his day thinking about it. His biggest concern is that if he were to show up it would take away from her, the focus should be on her. But thanks to his communications, he now has the itinerary for the weekend, should he ultimately decide to go. 

Flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, he laughs at himself. He’s going. Who is he kidding? He’ll just show up near the end...and…

His flair for the dramatic is his weakness, he imagines the look on her face. Even if she’s not happy to see him, seeing her in person would be enough. She may have a husband, kids...definitely friends and former colleagues in attendance. He tells himself he doesn’t expect anything, anything at all.

But as he lies alone in his big empty bed, he knows he wants. Wants her to be single, wants her to look at him with love and passion in her eyes. Wants the chance to have a quiet conversation, to know one another again. Wants to touch her, and show with all the love and reverence he can express what a wonder she is, has always been. 

He falls asleep, thinking about coconut lotion, bright eyes and smooth skin.


	5. Chapter 5

V.  
As he steers the rental car into the front gates of Camp Zephyr, he has to pull over for a moment to catch his breath. Putting down the window of the Mercedes S-class, he takes deep lungfuls of clean spring air, scented by the tall pine trees lining the drive. Get it together, Benedict, for once in your life be as daring as the characters you play, he scolds himself. He’s been through all this, over and over again over the past weeks.

He really has nothing to lose, knowing Jenna, she will welcome his presence, even if she doesn’t desire a rekindling of their relationship. He wishes now he had opened a correspondence with her, but that time is past. Pulling up to the assembly hall, he runs a hand over his face and through his hair. It has been a crazy few days, not much sleep, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He tries to smooth down the lines of his rumpled blue suit, knowing he’s most likely terribly overdressed for a camp event. 

He can hear the muffled voices from inside, stands next to the car and lights a cigarette. Once he steps in there...there’s no going back. He looks up at the evening sky, and the memories come flooding back. It’s camp, it’s Jenna. He’s here, what the fuck is he waiting for….

Taking a deep breath he opens the door and steps into the back of the darkened hall. This building didn’t even exist when he was here last. He had read about all the improvements Jenna had implemented, making camp a viable business year round with new facilities and programs. The speaker at the podium seemed familiar, a nicely dressed gentleman with thick white hair and a slight Spanish accent. As he talked about coming to Zephyr as an International counselor back in the 90’s, Ben realizes...Georges. The very same, only now a mature and obviously successful man. Lost in his thoughts, he is unaware of someone sidling up next to him.

“Oh my Fucking God,” he hears an exaggerated whisper and thinks to himself, shit, the cat’s out of the bag...he’s been recognized...but as he turns to look into bright, warm brown eyes and recognizes the braid if not the gray, Mols. She looks like she’s seen a ghost, but a friendly one. “She is so going to shit herself….hiya, Benny.” And she wraps him in the biggest hug. He feels the tension drain from his body. Should have known, really, nothing but love here. That’s camp.

She stays next to him through a few more people speaking. A young woman in her late 20’s talks about how Jenna mentored her, advised and supported her through tough times and now she has finished her residency and will begin her career as a pediatric surgeon. A boy and a girl, late teens, sing a song from the summer season, obviously counselors who worked with Jenna last year. Then a short red-haired guy takes the mic and talks about an anonymous donation to the camp foundation that will provide scholarships for campers well into the future. Molly digs her elbow into his side, “Anonymous, my ass, Dr. Strange.” she whispers, he says nothing, replies with a small smile. And then the bottom drops out of the room. 

She’s there, his Jenna. Standing at the podium. He feels his breath seize, Molly slips an arm around him, a gentle squeeze and gentler words, “Breathe, Benny. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” He does, takes a breath, and fills his eyes with the woman who made him a man. She is wearing her hair down tonight, it is shorter now, just touching her shoulders, rich brown streaked with silver. Her green dress hugs her curves, sexy but conservative. When she speaks into the mic, he feels himself melting inside. Her voice, commanding the room. It always did, but tonight it touches him deeply. 

He can hear in her tone the barely suppressed emotion...Jenna was never about getting attention for herself, only about doing the best she could with what she had. And tonight, this room is full of people here to honor her work, her life. Her hands shake a little as she grabs the podium. 

“Thank you, everyone. Your presence here tonight has touched my heart. So many faces from the past, so many memories. Together we built something enduring, something wonderful. I feel so privileged to have known you, to have worked side-by-side in the rain, the snow, the hottest, most miserable days...they were miracles for the children we served. Thank you for being a part of it. I have one favor to ask, if you would indulge me just a moment more. If camp has affected your life in a positive way, if I have had an influence on you that helped you, I need you to take that out into the world and give it away.” Her voice falters, she sniffs back tears, “It has been my honor and privilege to work alongside each of you throughout these years. Thank you again for your presence here this weekend and the unique gifts that you have shared with Zephyr over the years. Never forget your ‘summer light’, now go out there and give it away.” There is thunderous applause as everyone stands, tears and hugs and general chaos. Jenna is surrounded and Ben cannot see her, but he laughs when he recognizes Mike, mostly bald and quite paunchy as he takes the mic and talks to the crowd. 

“Oh we will Jenna, but first, let’s celebrate! Camp rules suspended for the evening, drink up and enjoy!” The room fills with colored strobe lights and music is playing.

Benedict drops his head, attempting to muster up the courage to wade through the crowd to her. His Jenna. Here in the same room. He thinks he might start hyperventilating, then feels Molly lean up with a calming hand rubbing between his shoulder blades. Her voice is calm and matter-of-fact, though not quite as boisterous as usual, he smiles at the memory. “This is a lot, isn’t it? Benny, go out and around to the side door, wait there. Get your shit together, I’ll bring her to you.” He lifts his eyes to make contact with hers, seeing only genuine thoughtfulness. 

“Thank God for you, Mols.” He hugs her, she pushes him towards the door. 

“No, Benny. Thank God for Jenna. Now go.” She turns away and disappears into the crowd. He slips out the door and around to the side. He stays in the shadows, leans up against the wall and lights a cigarette. Lifting his face to the sky, exhaling smoke, he is filled with gratitude. For Molly. For the circumstances that lead him here tonight. For Jenna. No matter what happens in the next few minutes or hours, he knows that email from years ago has helped him. Work through the darkness. Face his fears. Do the best with what he’s given. 

Voices startle him out of his own head. He hears Jenna through a nearby open window. “But Mols, please, there’s so many-” Molly interrupts in her usual no-nonsense way.

“Shut up, Jenna. When have I ever not had your best interests at heart? Now come on. Just wait, Just you wait, Jenna, wait till you see what I have brought for you. You are going to love me forever.” 

The door opens and she steps out. Looks around in the darkness, then turns back towards the door, but Molly is gone. Ben pushes himself off the wall and drops his cigarette as he steps into the faint light coming from the windows. 

She sees him and freezes. “Hello, Jenna,” he says softly. She just stares at him, hands down at her sides, eyes open wide, lips parted...in shock? He waits, feeling unsure. The colored flashing lights from inside trace over her, he can’t see her enough, she is every bit as beautiful as he remembers, more now, he thinks. “Jenna? You look beautiful.” She is still staring, barely breathing and the moments stretch on. Just when he thinks he ought to offer her his congratulations and head back to his car…

She’s on him, arms tight and fierce around his body, pulling him close. A ragged whisper in his ear, “Oh my Benny, is it really you? How...oh God.” He smiles as he hugs her back, dropping his face into her hair, lavender and coconut fills his senses. Yes. Everything he remembers, and more. 

She pulls back, putting both hands on his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones, his lips, smoothing out the lines of his forehead. Her touch is...so perfect, familiar and he was starving for it. He smiles at her. “Hello, beautiful.” Looking into her face, silvery gray eyes bright and filled with unshed tears, he watches as she bites her lip and takes a deep breath. 

“26 years, Benny...can I...oh God, can I kiss you?” They both know this is a check in, the time to say it if there’s something in the way…

He nods imperceptibly, dipping down to touch her lips with his, the barest touch lights him up with need and familiarity. She is warm and willing, and presses into him, opening her lips and inviting him inside, he feels her body sob as the wet of her tears touches his cheeks. “Jenna, no,” he whispers into her mouth, “God, Jenna, please don’t cry…” And she presses her face into his shoulder and he holds her. He smiles and lifts his face to the sky, his Jenna. For this moment she is in his arms again, and he wonders how he could have ever forgotten. He feels her loosen her grip and step back from him, he still holds her small hands in his. “You have only become more beautiful.” He looks at her, she stares at him. 

“It was you, wasn’t it? The anonymous donor? God, Benny, so generous. So devious, you little brat!” He is surprised by her words, she softens with a smile. “But this...you here, now...this is the best gift.” She steps close again and kisses his cheek. “We have much to catch up on...but…” she glances at the door. 

He rubs her knuckles with his thumbs, “I know, Jenna. Go, enjoy this night, it IS all for you. I can wait, just tell me where and when…anything you want, Jenna, always.”

He sees the tears well up again, she wipes them away and grabs his hand. “Oh no you don’t. I don’t care how famous you are, you are just our Benny here at Zephyr, now get your ass in there and have a drink. Now.” And she pulls him in behind her, lights flashing colors, music and voices loud, friends old and new, and she’s always nearby, an anchor in the joyful craziness that is a Zephyr celebration.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Hours later, they sit quietly in old wood adirondack chairs on her porch, with large glasses of ice water. Jenna changed into a black tank and leggings with a long purple sweater, Benedict has his suit coat back on, though the top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone hours earlier amidst the dancing and socializing. 

They keep sneaking glances at each other, trying to fill minds and hearts with the reality of the here and now. It is late and the sounds of revelry from the main lodge have faded, though there is still the occasional burst of laughter or stifled giggle from around the grounds. Jenna lights a cigarette, tucks her legs under her and turns towards him. Eyes shining in the dark, she looks her fill. 

“How is this even possible, Benny? How can you be here?” He laughs at her incredulity, the shock she is still trying to overcome. He shrugs and blows smoke up over his head. 

“Oh Jenna, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. There’s so much to tell…” he turns to look at her, though she is lovely, always lovely, he can tell she is exhausted. “Look, darling, I would love to tell you everything, talk to you for hours and days, and I will if you will let me, if we can make that work. But I think now, you may need to sleep, yeah? You’ve been going on adrenaline for days now, I can tell.” Benedict reads her like a script, knows her like his own heart. She leans her head on one hand, looking hard at him. He continues, his voice softer, “Jenna, love, I’m not going to disappear, unless you want me to go….” 

Her voice is even softer, afraid to ask, needing to know. “How long Benny? Before you have to go?”

He traces her fingers with his, gentle and calm. He takes his time before lifting his eyes to hers. Speaking clearly, with intent in his eyes, he says, “September. I have to be in LA in September.” 

Her eyes go wide. More shock and surprise. Maybe she is too tired to understand what he is saying...then he sees understanding dawn. Jenna is back, clear through the haze of exhaustion. One corner of her mouth lifts, “You serious?” He nods. She lifts her glass to clink against his, “Then here’s to another summer, sexy.” They laugh together, smile and sit quietly for a bit. 

An hour later she takes his hand, leads him to her bed. In the quiet of early morning, he loves her again, she loves him still. 

Finding each other again, they sleep under the shelter of a thousand summer lights.


End file.
